


Bulletproof

by imaginary_iby



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Malia's murder, Danny becomes obsessed with making sure that Steve's tac vest is in perfect condition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bulletproof

Danny Williams is not a rookie. 

He’s lead teams, he’s coached junior partners, he’s headed city-wide homicide investigations; he’s sat beside many a shaky young Newark cop who has just taken their first life, and he’s told countless mothers that their child will never be coming home.

So he knows that he’s being ridiculous. He knows that he’s being impractical. He knows that he’s only going to be able to get away with it for so long, before Chin and Kono find out. He knows, really, that he should know better. 

And yet, he still can’t help it. It’s become something of an obsession, a fire in his belly that never goes out.

It all started with Malia’s murder. 

At first, it was little more than a niggling idea, an irritable urge in the back of his mind that he couldn’t ignore. He would stare up at the ceiling for hours on end, the gentle heat of Steve’s body melting into their sheets and warming his back. 

And then one night, one night he just couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved on the closest clothes he could find, (jeans and Steve’s dirty shirt), and drove to HQ like a madman. 

Before he knew what was happening, Five-0’s armory was in pieces all over the floor; magazines laid out in long rows, guns and rifles disassembled, boxes of bullets counted and catalogued.

Intellectually, he knew that it wasn’t necessary. Everybody on the team was diligent in their firearm maintenance, and Five-0’s budget was such that they could always swiftly replace any broken tech. Nevertheless, that night he inspected every last gun, every last rifle, his trained gaze meticulously searching for any fault that could lead his team astray. Hours and hours of counting bullets, of stripping weapons, of cleaning them and assembling them again, placing them back in their assigned cradles to be locked away. 

It was only as the sun began to rise that he turned his attention to their tac vests, all four settled in a long chest against the wall. Chin and Kono’s were always side by side, very much like their owners themselves. Chin’s held a variety of straps for his shot-gun. Kono’s was significantly smaller than the men’s, designed to suit her slight frame - but the name plate on the front was just as well-worn. Danny inspected both vests for any design flaws that might have inexplicably appeared overnight, before moving on, to Steve’s vest.

Steve’s vest. The root of all his problems.

With time, Danny was able to stop obsessively inspecting their armory in the dead of night. With time, he was able to convince himself that Chin and Kono could maintain their own gear. But every morning, every single morning, he couldn’t stop himself from holding Steve’s vest up to the light. He couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers over every zip, every strap, every seam. He couldn’t stop himself from smudging his thumb over the name plate on the front: _Steve McGarrett, Five-0 Unit._ The person he loved, boiled down to capitalized words etched onto a golden tag. 

Which is how he now finds himself frittering his hands over Steve’s chest, blunt fingernails digging into his partner’s vest and adjusting it this way and that. Steve stands still before him, his eyes desperately sad but eternally patient, his hands resting on Danny’s hips. This isn’t the first time Danny has _had_ to drag Steve off to check him over.

It’s a depressing rendition of sending Grace off to school in the morning; Danny neatens her pig-tails, flattens her collar and shoos her off to class with a kiss to the cheek. Only now, now he’s tightening Steve’s body armour, hitching it up a little at the collar, re-tying the side-straps and getting him prepped and ready to breach the warehouse around the corner. “Okay, okay,” Danny whispers, not at all satisfied but with no other choice in the matter. They’re tucked away in an alley - he can hear Chin and Kono discussing tactics by the car. There are no civilians in danger, so they’re waiting for SWAT to arrive.

The funny thing of it is, that when they _do_ enter the warehouse, Danny feels entirely normal. He’s utterly at ease with the way his team clears rooms, he’s perfectly comfortable with going downstairs whilst Steve goes up. He trusts Chin to have Steve’s back, and his world narrows down to the job, to protecting Kono and letting her protect him in return. It’s only in the quiet moments right before the rush, the midnight moments when Steve takes up all of the bed, somehow managing to make Danny’s thigh his pillow, that Danny feels like he can’t breathe.

Every now and then, on the worst nights, Danny sometimes regrets getting involved with a co-worker. He had pushed for their relationship just as hard as Steve had, but there’s no denying that it takes its toll. On those nights, he tries to breathe deeply, to think about all the ways in which life has taken a turn for the better: Steve and Grace are slowly working their way through the McGarrett family cookbook. His sisters don’t tut at him on the phone anymore. Christmas is a bustle of activity. Grace has developed an amazing spark of confidence, whenever she dares a class-mate to comment on her having a Danno, a Dad, and a Stan. (To say nothing of Steve’s eternal amazement at being given such a title).

When the warehouse is cleared, and the day is done, Steve hooks a long finger into Danny’s vest, gently tugging him towards the car. They drive in silence for a while, the wind whistling through the open windows and wreaking havoc with Danny’s hair, before pulling over to a random stretch of deserted beach. The sun is simmering on the horizon, casting golden sparks all over the place as it slowly melts away. 

Without a word, Steve stands before Danny, drops his chin a little to catch his partner’s gaze. With slow, deliberate fingers, he begins to un-buckle his vest, tearing apart stiff Velcro and snapping open the clasps of the shoulders. He shrugs out of it, and as he’s placing it on the hood of the Camaro, a small white glossy piece of paper flutters out in the evening breeze. Steve quickly snags it. “I know you check my vest every morning.”

Danny swallows, painfully. If he was being honest with himself, he’s not at all surprised that Steve knew. But that doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it. 

“I know you check my vest every morning,” Steve says again. “But what you don’t know is that I slip this inside whenever I put it on during the day.” He holds out the square of glossy paper – a simple little snap of Grace. Just an everyday school photo, one of those uniform head-shots that come in dozen-packs, for class rolls and public transport cards. She’s mid-blink, but she has a cheeky little grin on her face and a tiny golden Five-0 pin hidden amongst the many sports badges on her collar. 

Reverently, Danny takes the photo, looking down at his little goofball.

Steve steps closer, settles his warm hands on Danny’s hips, heat immediately seeping through the material to melt into skin. “I can do my job. Our armor is top of the line. You know that.” He slides his fingers up and begins to un-buckle Danny’s vest. “I know that you’re not superstitious, or religious, or anything at all, really. Neither am I. But. Just this once. Just between you and me, let’s try and have faith that I’ve got a little something extra watching over me. Okay?”

Danny focuses on the shot of his daughter, on the feel of Steve’s familiar fingers gently working him out of heavy Kevlar and fabric. Once he’s free, Danny steps forward and slides the little photo back into the inner lining of Steve’s vest. “Yeah,” he says with a smile. It’s small, but genuine, one of the first in many months of worry and obsession. “Yeah, okay, I think we can do that.”


End file.
